Friday, 14 October 2016

A Little Wobble

A jelly.  Of Sorts
Jelly.  Jelly wobbles.  I can remember looking at it as a child, shaking the bowl to see it shiver.   Great stuff altogether.   Tasty too.  

Wibbly Wobbly Wonder ice-pops.  One of my favourite ice-cream treats.   They have a great taste as well.   The taste of childhood.    I don’t eat them so much anymore though.  Maybe tomorrow.   Oh, wait.  It’s October.   Maybe next summer.  Yes.  Definitely next summer.

Lower lips.  They wobble too.   Nothing can stop me in my tracks faster than one of my boys with a lower lip wobble.   The most recent one was when he almost knocked the bowl of cereal out of my hand.   I got crossed and yelled.   His lip wobbled.  Then I almost wobbled.   We made up after a moment.  It was all good.

There was a further wobble that evening with another boy.  Crossed wires, I got cross and yelled again.  After a fashion I got another hold of myself and asked him to remind me of what I am always saying to them; “It doesn’t matter.  It’s not important.  No-one got hurt.”  That wobble wasn’t so nice.   I must remember to keep my cool in the future.  Over silly stupid things.  Things that are not important.

There were lots of wobbles when the boys were babies.  Lots of them.   The boys may have been small but the wobbles weren’t.   Second guessing myself all the time.   Wondering, waiting and wailing in between.   Wobbles at 2am in the kitchen by myself.  I had many in the shower.  Once I almost mortified myself in a shop!   I shouldn’t have been let out half the time.  

Loads of drunken wobbles.  Oh, yessir, too many to mention in this blog post.  Ones where I couldn’t get the bathroom door open.  Others where I fell asleep.  Once even standing up.  Another time on a plane.   Once I cornered a lovely friend and demanded to know why she couldn’t feed the homeless with the leftover food from her fast food outlet job.  Yes!   Drunken wobbles. Who knew there could be so many?   I’ll say goodbye to that one now.

There were a few wobbles at some of my works.   I hated those ones.   I’m not a big fan of confrontation but looking back I am so glad, proud and happy with myself for throwing those wobbles.  I was standing up for myself and shaking in my boots (Doc Martins for one of them) at the same time.  Now I tell my boys to do the same. 

I have lots of body wobbles now.   I remind myself I have been through four back to back pregnancies and I am not exactly in the first flush of youth anymore.  I also tell myself I’d have less wobbles if I could lay off the Walnut Whips, the almonds I like to munch and the chocolate I love with my coffee.   I think my wobbles are here to stay.  I will continue to fight them when instead maybe I should “love the body I’m in.”

The wheel of the car wobbled not so long ago.  For a horrible moment I thought I was going to hit the car in front but the brakes worked just in time.   On further inspection – by someone else.   You don’t want me checking out your car - it turned out the front wheel on the passenger side was a moment away from falling off.   Now that was a wobble I didn’t dwell too much on.

Wobbles are a fact of life.  Big and small.   Apparently it’s not the wobble that’s important but how you handle it.  Or maybe that’s something else.  

It’s good advice all the same.

However, there’s a new wobble in town.  It was discovered almost two weeks ago and it’s gotten worse.  And this one by all accounts, is earlier than the others.  

It’s a wobbly tooth. 

I’ve seen those before.   Lots of them.  So many in fact, I part time as the tooth fairy.
This loose tooth though is another of the first of the lasts.  

Because it’s Smallest Boy.    His first loose tooth is right on the bottom.   The one next door to it is in no great state either.     A double wobble.   They will both probably fall out in time for Halloween.

They’re only teeth. He will grow perfectly fine and beautiful adult ones. 

But this is it.   It’s another marker.   Like the first proper haircut – the one that strips the baby look off them – the onset of adult teeth puts the look of an older child on them too. 

Once upon a time he didn’t want his teeth to fall out because it would be sore and he wouldn’t be able to eat apples.

Now he can’t wait till it happens because he will get “millions of euro from the tooth fairy.”

May all his wobbles in life be so small.  


Saturday, 1 October 2016

Reward Charts for Grown Ups

I’m all for setting goals.   The carrot at the end of the stick, or to call a spade a spade, a good old fashioned bribe.  A little bribe, an honest one, but mostly a bribe that will get the job done and if it removes the sting, better still.

When the boys went back to school (BTS) I thought it might be nice to soften the blow with a little treat at the end of the first week.

We were lucky.  The treat literally fell into our collective laps when we were invited along on a boat trip. 

It was so lovely I thought why not make it a regular event.  Not the boat trip.  The treat.  A pat on the back for a job well done. 

This idea went down very well with the troops and the next treat was decided by Oldest Boy who by very dint of his position in the family has more than a touch of alpha male about him.  His younger brothers, recognising when the king of the jungle is in the room, assumed submissive positions and went along with his suggestion.  Which was a trip to Dundrum shopping centre with the intention of having a sushi lunch.

A while back the supermarket we frequent was hosting an Asian experience and I picked up a tray of raw fish for the boys.  Much to my surprise they enjoyed it very much.  Oldest Boy hadn’t forgotten it.    I suspected, however, it was the novelty factor more than the culinary experience that won them over.

Our next treat is still a matter of weeks away but I had a little moment of clarity recently.

Since the boys WBTS, there has been rugby, an introduction to a most excellent climbing wall and plenty of birthday parties in the offing.  Not to mention hikes with scouts and various other events. 

All of these treats for the boys but none for the grown-ups.  Something was very wrong with this picture.

I decided to rectify.

I was reminded of the online writing course I spotted earlier on this year.  The one I promised myself I would sign up to.  May and June sped past and before I knew it I was neck deep in Back to School purchases, my online writing course savings haemorrhaging before my eyes.

Moving quickly forward, last week I completed my first module. Tomorrow I am booked in for a long overdue haircut and Mister Husband has arranged for a sitter so I get to go on a date with my hair him tomorrow night.

I am writing this with a class of red wine by my side because that was in short supply for the 
last few weeks also.

Treats, you see, shouldn’t be just for the kids.   Grown-ups should have regular rewards too.

Sushi.  Haircuts.   Wine.  Dates.  Mitching from work.  (ssshhh) and hey, star charts if that’s what floats your boat.

Go on.   Treat yourself.       

Thursday, 15 September 2016

Genie In My Kitchen

This evening one of the boys asked what would I wish for if a genie appeared.  I told him the genie would consider my ask to be very boring and unoriginal because it would be to keep everyone in my family happy and healthy.   That’s where he cut me right off.

“Would you not just ask for infinity wishes then?  That way you could get loads of stuff.”

A very valid point.  I didn’t bother to tell him that I don’t actually want “loads of stuff” because   wanting LOS (Loads of Stuff) is what kids are all about.  It is the very essence of their being.  The more stuff the better.  His eyes were lit up with the list of LOS he wanted should this genie appear. 

We had a small chat about it but then he became distracted by a game that his brothers were involved in so he skipped off.    Leaving me to consider the genie. 

I spoke the truth when I mentioned my lack of interest in LOS.  Realising that in itself made me happy.  I’m grand the way I am, thanks.  But sometimes it’s nice to daydream.  To let your imagination run wild.  And as I messed about with the tea towel and dishes, I let my mind wander a little. 

Inserting caveat here.    If a genie did appear in my kitchen (because where else would I be?) and absolutely insisted that he (why are they always of the male variety?) bestow upon me a wish, it would truly be for continued good health and happiness for my family.

And if the genie were to eyeball me cynically and insist that I request something small for myself, I might ask for lots of books.  Perhaps maybe half a dozen to arrive through my letter box each month to keep me going.

And if the genie were to consider this a little too dry and boring a desire, that I must make this visit worth his while and be a little unconventional with my demands, I might chance my arm and ask to be two inches taller.  It would lengthen everything else, you see.  Make that pesky half stone that refuses to bugger off, less noticeable. 

And as a reward for playing the game properly, if the genie were to reward me with a bonus wish, I might remember the lesson learned and ask for something even more lofty and slightly out of reach.   I think I’d go for a chef.   Someone to call to the house, just a couple of evenings a week, with a box of delicious food, similar to the menu in my favourite Thai restaurant, and cook up a storm.  I’d even clean up afterwards.   I might ask for that. 

But in the meantime, I’ll settle for exactly what I have, thank you very much,  

Health and happiness. 

Health & Happiness